Living Memories
by Leahbasa
Summary: Lisbon has suffered PTSD in silence for many years. Her alchohaulic, abusive father terrorized her and her siblings after her mother died. She never planned for anyone to find out about her condition but hiding things from Jane has never been one of her best talents. Warning: Abuse, bad language, pretty dark, depressing storyline.
1. Chapter 1

I groan inwardly as Rigsby thunks a evidence box on the table. I hate looking through the little evidence bags while I try to ignore Jane's comments. What doesn't he get about "Jane, don't open the evidence bags"? What's the point of the bags if you just empty them on the table?

He leaps up from his nap and saunters over to the table, easily the first one there. He digs around and grins as he extracts a bag holding a mixed up Rubik's Cube.

"Jackpot."

"Jane" I instinctively say "Don't open-". Too late. He slits open the bag and begins playing with the cube, turning it so fast its practically a blur.

"Whatever." I grumble. I reach in and pull out a small notebook that looks like a diary. I sigh before opening it. The victim, the man whose stuff we were examining, was a doctor, meaning that his handwriting was probably illegible.

Beside me, Van Pelt pulled out a logbook. She looks in it for a few seconds then remarks "Can anyone tell me what language this is in?" She has a point. The only words I have made out so far are idiot and appointment. Cho pulls out a pile of clothes and begins to search the pockets.

I turn the page and after a moment make out the date January 35. This is going to take a while. I scrutinize the date and am about to turn the page when i hear the sound of metal clinking. It stops me cold.

I know that noise.

Part of me is saying "Get a hold of yourself, Reese." But that name reminds me of my past, too. Tommy only called me Reese when he was scared. And he was only scared when-

I turn around slowly and see Cho holding up a thick leather belt. He tosses it on the table and reaches for another evidence bag. I hear the metal clink as it hits the table and in my head I hear a voice that is definitely not mine. "More? You want more?" and just like that, I'm back in my past.

I manage to make it to my office before the flashback begins.

_ I'm twelve and a half. There are tears streaming down my face as I lay facedown on my bed. My back is beyond being on fire. It feels as if strips are being ripped off it. It feels wet and I know that there's a pool of blood. My cheek throbs and there's probably going to be a bruise. He stands above me growling. He's holding the belt. As it swings in his hand, I hear the metal buckle clink. It sends shivers down spine. _

_ "I asked you, where the fuck are they?!" He shouts so loud I feel drops of spittle on my arm. _

_ "I don't know!" I sob. "Please, let me help Tommy." Tommy is laying on the floor, the shattered remains of a beer bottle lying around his head. I don't know whether he passed out from the impact of the bottle against his head or when it hit the floor. Either way, there is blood dripping from the cut on his forehead and that can't mean anything good. _

_ "You stole them, didn't you?" He shouts. "All I want is a fucking cigarette and my daughter stole them." He raises the belt. "I guess you want more. More it is." He bring the belt down on my back again and again until I sink into a blessed darkness where there is no pain. _


	2. Chapter 2

"Lisbon." says Jane. I sit straight up. I realize I was slumped on my desk. The image of Tommy screaming "Reese!" as the bottle collided with his head is still bouncing around my mind. I shake my head a bit to clear up those thoughts.

"Yeah?" I turn to look at him, hoping my expression doesn't reveal what I just remembered.

"You okay?" He frowns a bit. "You look a bit-" He trails off, still staring at my face.

I turn so he can't see my face. "I'm fine. What do we got?"

"A case down in Redmund. We got to go." He's still frowning a bit. "You sure you're okay?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"If you say so" He says, now grinning.

"What?" I mutter.

He held up my keys. "I drive." He flashes me a smile. "Lets go."

On the way to the car, I'm still being tormented by images. I can't stand watching Tommy pass out in slow motion again and again but it seems like today, I have no choice. I know I am suffering from PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and I have my good days and bad days. Today is obviously a bad day.

30 minutes later, I'm standing at the entrance to a house. The paint is peeling and the door hangs in the frame. Part of the porch has fallen in and as I'm staring a rat scurries under the broken door and into the hole in the porch. Something about this place is oddly familiar, as if I've been here before. It sends shivers down my spine.

Rigsby opens the door and the stench just about knocks me out. Whiskey. Its not necessarily how strong it is, but how familiar it is. And the memories it brings. Suddenly the image I've been trying to block out is back. Tommy cries my name as he falls to the ground, blood dripping from his forehead. My back burns as if I'm replaying that horrible moment which, thanks to my PTSD, I am, sort of. "Reese!" He falls to the ground. I hear the terrible shatter of glass. "Reese!"

"Boss?" That clears my head. "Boss?" "Yeah?" I turn to Cho, ignoring Jane's curious looks. "Victim is Thomas Berkley, age 42. He's got 4 kids, Wendy, 15, Sienna, 12, Max, 8 and Ben, 6. Wendy called 911 after Berkley passed out and stopped breathing. She called as soon as he passed out."

"Mmmmmmm, nope." Said Jane. "She call a few hours after he passed out." We all turn towards Jane. We've been through this enough times to know that he's probably right. "Elaborate." I say. "Well..." said Jane, enjoying his audience,"This is obviously a home of a drunk" He gestured to the broken dishes and the overall appearance of the room. "He's been drinking for a while so she must have been used to him passing out."

This was starting to sound awfully familiar...

"so therefore, he must have been passed out for an awfully long time, maybe a day or two before she took his pulse and called 911."

"So we have no time of death or witnesses besides 4 kids who were probably doing their best to avoid or ignore him." summed up Cho. Oh, Cho, you always look on the bright side of things.

"Yup." we all mutter.

A half hour later, I'm getting out of the car and starting towards the front door of the CBI HQ. I had kept my hand on the keys during the whole crime scene investigation to stop Jane's attempts at stealing my keys.

The crime scene really freaked my out because it reminded me of the last time I saw my dad. He had stumble into his bedroom, stone drunk as usual. We had ignored him and avoided the room. We knew by now that a drunk was better left alone. Four days later, in a crazed search for food, James, age 11, opened the door and found him hanging from the ceiling. The coroner later told us that he had been dead for at least three days and asked if we had smelled the body. Truthfully, we hadn't. The house already reeked from whiskey and moldy food.

Great. Now I'm switching between hearing James scream when he opened the bedroom door and Tommy passing out, blood dripping down the side of his head. What a long day it's going to be.


	3. Chapter 3

I walk to the elevator, singing a Spice Girls song in my head. This is a technique to blocking out PTSD episodes that I discovered a few years ago. The elevator comes and of course it goes back up with me and Jane by ourselves. I'm successfully rocking out in my head- _I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want!_ -when Jane interrupts my thoughts.

"You sure you're okay?" Shit. He's staring at my face again.

"Geez, Jane, I'm fine!" Just then, the elevators open and it's the perfect distraction/conversation ender. I walk to my office back in Spice Girls universe and have almost succeeded in ending the PTSD when I see a clump of four kids.

They're probably the Berkley kids, I vaguely remember Rigsby mentioning that they were coming in for questioning, but that's not what grabs my attention. The younger boy has his arm in a cast. The older girl appears unharmed but her cheek is swelling slightly and experience tells me the she has covered a bruise with makeup. They stand in a tight group, staring warily at the passing people. Across the hall, a woman drops a book on the floor by accident and the youngest child just about jumps out of his skin and covers his face as if to ward off blows. The rest of the children all flinch.

This behavior practically makes me cry. Luckily, I manage to make it to my office before another PTSD episode. I slam the door, collapse on the chair and close my eyes, waiting for it to begin.

_I'm 13 and I'm with my brothers, Danny, Peter, James and Tommy. We came for a Memorial Day Picnic, sponsored by the PTA. Danny and Peter are off playing with the middle school boys, but James and Tommy stay sitting with me by the picnic bench. _

_ I'm overloaded with stress. I'm trying to finish my geometry homework while mentally writing a grocery list. I am constantly pulling a little compact mirror from my pocket to check my makeup. Last night was bad and now I have a bruise going my ear to my chin and one on my cheek shaped exactly like a fist. Even though its 80 degrees outside, I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans to hide the belt lacerations._

_ Looking at my brothers, my heart melts. Tommy is only 7 and James is 9. Why does their childhood have to be like this? Across the field, a mother is running a beanbag toss for the kids their age. _

_ "Go on guys, do that activity." I prompt. "It's not much fun over here." Both of them shake their head fearfully and edge closer to me despite the heat. They obviously still have last night on their minds. _

_ Right at that moment, a badly thrown frisbee lands on Tommy's lap. Tommy gives a silent shriek and topples onto James, who lands on the grass. James instantly curls up into the fetal position, shielding his face with his hands and shaking. Tommy begins to cry. _

_ I pull James back on the bench and hold them close, wiping away their tears and whispering "Shh, shh. Don't cry, it's going to be okay. It's going to be okay..."_


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up to Van Pelt knocking on the glass door. I sit up and motion for her to come in. She pokes her head in and asks if she and the team can go home. I check my watch. 5:15.

"Yeah." I say. "I'm probably going to leave, too."

"Thanks, boss." She smiles and leaves.

I gather up my stuff and go home. On my way to the elevator, I notice that Jane's couch is empty, but there is a small object on it. I go closer and see that it's the Rubik's Cube from the evidence box. It's completely solved, and to top it all off, is in a sealed evidence bag.

It takes an hour to get home thanks to the now heavy rain and rush hour traffic. By the time I get home, I'm exhausted from a day at work, an hour of traffic, two PTSD episodes in one day and the sight of the four Berkley children huddled in that tight mass keeps returning to my mind. Even though it's only 6:30, I collapse on the couch and am asleep before my head hits the couch.

My sleep, while physically replenishing my body, does nothing to rest my mind.

_I'm walking down a long hallway when I hear a scream at the end of it. "Reese!" I've had this dream many times before and it's always the same. I begin to run to the end of the hallway but there is no end. I'm running and running until I'm running so fast I can't see anything, everything is a blur. Suddenly, the ground dissolves and I'm falling. On one side of me, I see Tommy falling too, blood dribbling out of the cut on his forehead. Then, I look to my right and see the Berkley kids falling. They're in a tight group hugging each other. They're wearing no makeup and the bruises on their faces stand out horribly. They're mouths are open as if they're screaming but no sound comes out. I reach out to touch them but before I can, we hit the ground. _

I sit straight up in bed, breathing heavily and soaked in sweat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors note: shoutout to my first ever followers: CookiesForMe and Smudje and to my first review, Smudje! Love you all :) leah**

I check the clock. 10:35

What? Oh yeah, I fell asleep at 6:30. I wander into the bathroom and take a quick shower because I always wake up from nightmares soaked in sweat.

After I get out of the shower, i go to the kitchen to make a snack. I don't really feel like making anything fancy so I just pop a frozen waffle into the toaster. I sit on a stool and take a deep breath.

It's getting worse, my PTSD. Two episodes in one day plus a nightmare? This isn't good. I don't know how long I can go on like this. I don't know what kind of treatment there is for PTSD. Therapy? I can't do that. The story of my childhood has only passed my lips and it was only two sentances. The first time, it was to the victim's husband and it was to help him get over his alchohaulism for the sake of his kids. The other time was to a therapist who ended up trying to frame me for a murder. You see, I don't have very good experience with therapists.

_Ding._

The waffle is done. I'm so distracted with thoughts, I burn my hand as I try to reach for my waffle. It's just a little burn, but it starts yet another episode.

_I'm twelve again. I just got home from my soccer game. We beat the West Town Wasps 3 to 0 and I had scored two of those goals. I was in such a good mood that I had sprinted up the front walk. I stopped in front of the porch as reality hit me. I really didn't want to go in. I slowly walked in, stepping over the big hole in the porch and prying open the door, which hung on two hinges._

_ Suddenly, I heard a scream inside. I ran to the kitchen and saw Dad holding Peter's hand very close to one of the burners on the stove. Without stopping to think, I ran over and shoved Dad as hard as I could. Surprise caught him and Peter managed to wriggle out of his grip. I screamed "Go upstairs now!" just as Dad lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. I waited to hear the swish of the belt as he pulled it of but instead, he grabbed my hand and held it in the flame. I screamed in pure agony. I wanted to pass out, to die, anything to make the pain stop. In my terrible, agonized state, I lost the ability to think clearly. I was barely breathing, just screaming._

_ I now know what a miracle is. It is an act of God, a pure display of heavenly mercy. I know because right at that moment, a miracle occurred. Right as I was about to hit the end of my pain tolerance, the stove ran out of gas._

_ I spun around and punch Dad in the face as hard as I could. I didn't want to hurt him, (okay, maybe I did.) I mainly wanted to knock him out. It worked. He was probably close to passing out anyway, from the smell of whiskey on his breath and the pile of empty bottles on the floor._

**Authors note: I'm going to start ending my stories with mentalist trivia. Right answerswill get a shoutout in the next chapter!  
**

**Okay, here's the question**

**What is Lisbon's favorite kind of apple?**

**:) leah**


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note: shoutout to CookiesForMe and to Lisbonheart who got the trivia right from chapter 5. The answer was red delicious. who thinks that would be a good episode title? :)leah**

When I wake up from that vision, I'm slumped on the counter and the burn on my pinkie hurts. I run it under cold water, then check my watch. 10:00

_Oh, shit._

I sprint to the car and drive to work. Spice Girls is blaring on the radio to get the episode out of my head before work. I rush inside. In the elevator, I try to compose myself. As I walk to my office, I am well aware of everyone in the bullpen staring at me. I ignore them and sit at my desk. I start to straighten it, something that always calms me down, when I'm worked up.

_Knock, knock. _

I look up and see Van Pelt at the door.

"Yeah?"

"um, we were talking to Wendy, the oldest Berkley child and we were just about wrapping up with her. You want to talk to her?"

"Yeah." I walk to the interrogation room and take a deep breath before I walk in.

She's sitting there, looking exactly as I pictured her in my dreams, except that she covered her bruises with makeup. She's wearing long pants and shirt even though it's about eighty degrees outside. I can practically see her mental shields coming up as I walk in.

"Wendy?" She looks at me but doesn't answer. "Wendy, can you tell me about what happened two days ago?" I ask as I sit down across from her.

"What is there to say? My dad passed out so I called 911."

"How soon after he passed out did you call 911?"

"As soon as he hit the ground." She thinks a moment, then adds "He's never passed out before." I decide to let this one pass because I know the shame of admitting that your father is an alchohaulic. It isn't easy to announce something like that.

"Where are you staying now?" I ask, to change the subject.

She seems surprised at this question. I can't blame her. When I was a kid in her situation, anytime anyone showed me that they even remotely cared about me and my brothers, I was surprised. I had forgotten that people cared about other people. My father had beaten that illusion out of me.

She recovered from her surprise and her mental wall was back up.

"We're staying with my un-" her voice cracks. She clears her throat and looks at the floor. "We're staying with my uncle." She mumbles. "Can I go? I need to go back to the kids."

"They're okay, they're with your uncle." Somehow, that doesn't sound right. I have sudden déjà vu of me begging a teacher who had held me after class to let me go home. I hadn't done the homework because I had been knocked out from an unfortunate impact with a whiskey bottle. _"Your brothers are safe at home, Teresa. Now do your homework." _When I got home, Tommy and Peter were unconscious on the floor and the other boys were hiding in the attic. Peter had a skull fracture and Tommy had a concussion. It turns out, my dad had charged through the house, looking for me. When his search was unsuccessful, he had gone after the boys in a drunken rage. So much for being safe at home.

"Yeah." I say. "Go home to your siblings."

**Authors Note: in case there'sanything totally random written in the story, its because spellcheck is acting up and it just changed the word "up" to "Uri" for no reason. **

**Okay, mentalist trivia time. What was cho's name when he was in the gang? Shoutout to anyone who gets it in chapter 7! :)leah**


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note: the answer to chapter 6 trivia is iceman, shoutout to cookiesforme and Beck D who got it right. Warning, this chapter is especially dark with sexual abuse themes and that kind of stuff. Again, sorry for any random words, spellcheck is just changing words whenever it feels like it and half the time it doesn't even change them to actual words, just random letters.**

I walk into the bullpen, a little depressed from the meeting with Wendy.

"What do we got?" I ask Rigsby, trying to distract myself.

"I'm looking into the victim's brother, Daniel Berkley. Not a nice guy. He's got charges for aggravated assault, dealing, and served 5 years for armed robbery."

"Ouch."

"Yep. He made a call to the victim at 4 AM, a few hours before the coroner estimates time of death."

"Let's go get him. Do you have an address?"

"Yeah. Let's go." Just then Cho came up to us.

"Boss," He said."I got an address on Berkley's coworker, Jackson Bensel. Neighbor saw him entering Berkleys's house the day before he died. She said he looked angry and practically knocked down the door."

"Okay. Go, and bring Van Pelt and Jane."

"Jane?" He gives me a look.

"Come on, he can't come with me and Rigsby. We're probably going to have some kind of chase."

"Yes, boss." He walks of to get his coat. I strap on a bullet vest and make Rigsby do so also.

20 minutes later, we're standing in front of a terribly shabby house. There is no doorknob, just a hole in the door. Inside the house, we hear a scream.

We run in and find find three of the Berkley children huddled in a corner. The youngest is sobbing and the other two look close to tears.

"What happened? Who screamed?"

The older boy points up at the ceiling and the younger one sobs "Uncle Dan is hurting Sienna!"

Wendy explains "They're upstairs, in the bedroom. We can't get in, it's locked." She looks near hysterics and there's a cut down the side of her cheek.

Me and Rigsby run upstairs and hear crying in one of the rooms. Rigsby kicks in the door and we find Daniel Berkley pinning a twelve-year-old girl to the mattress. The girl is crying uncontrollably and kicking furiously, trying to rid herself of her attacker.

"Get up! Hands in the air!" Rigsby shouts. He rips the man off Sienna and handcuffs him. I rush over to help the girl.

"Are you okay?" I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumps when I touch her and rolls to the far corner of the bed, curles up and sobs quietly into her knees. I see James curled up in the exact same position as her and suddenly, a terrible thought passes through me. I know dad kicked around me and my brothers plenty, but did he ever...? Suddenly, I know. I always knew he was an awful father but capable of hurting them like that? I feel as if I was just drenched in ice water. I remember looking at them, thinking about how awful their childhood was, but that was before I knew...

"Boss, I'm going to call this one in." Says Rigsby, thankfully startling me out of my thoughts. I nod, barely comprehending what he said.

The rest of the day is a blur that I have no memory of. I walk in my front door and crash on the couch, sinking into a tortured sleep of my brothers crying out in pain and my _father_, my father chasing them.

**Author's Note: drumrolllllll... Mentalist trivia! This is a hard one, electronic hugs to whoever actually takes the time to look it up. What kind of drug was used to erase Lisbon's memory in the episode Red Badge?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors note: Shoutout and electronic hugs to Lisbonheart who got the trivia right from chapter 7! It was Lorazepam. Love you all! :)leah**

The next morning, I get up way before my alarm goes off and enter the CBI HQ about two hours early. I'm really proud of myself, I got through yesterday without a single PTSD episode. This is why I am completely and utterly shocked to find Jane at his desk doing a crossword and the Berkley kids all curled up on his couch, asleep like little kittens.

"Jane!" I whisper/scream.

"Oh, good morning, Lisbon." He whispers back. "Shh." He gesture to the kids. "They're still sleeping. Why are you hear so early?"

I still havn't recovered from my shock. "What are they doing here?" I mouth furiously.

"Oh, come on. I didn't want to send them back to their uncle. He almost raped Sienna."

"He's in the holding cell downstairs"

"Yeah, but that house was crawling with rats. They're more comfortable here."

"On a couch in an office?"

"A very comfortable couch. And they slept on the floor there, anyways."

"How do you know?"

"Ben told me."

"Ben?"

"The youngest one."

"What happens when they wake up?"

"Oh, I told their social worker that I would keep an eye on them while she sorted out a few things."

_"What?"_

"Oh, come on, Lisbon. You think I can't entertain a couple kids for a few hours?"

"Four kids, Jane. Four. And for your information, when a social worker says 'watch them while I sort out a few things,' she means a few days, not a few hours.

"Oh." Suddenly he looks curious. "Where did you learn that?"

"Never mind." I mutter, silently kicking myself for letting that one slip. Thankfully, just then the kids all woke up at the same time. They looked around for a second then, realizing where they were, they huddled together.

My heart melts at the sight of those kids.

"Morning, guys!" Says Jane, cheerfully. "I'm gonna run down to the coffee stand outside to get you guys something to eat. You can stay here with Agent Lisbon." With that, he winks at me and walks out.

The kids turn to me. "Um, hi guys." I say, cautiously. I don't want to upset them or anything. "Um, I'm Teresa. Do you, uh, want to do anything?" I'm really lost here. I can barely entertain my nephew, Jeremy, and he's a two-year-old living in an absolutely perfect houshold. Now I'm talking about four older kids fresh from an abusive home with an alchohaulic father. God help me.

"Could I have some paper and a pencil please, Teresa?" asks Sienna.

"Could I have a book?" Asks Max.

"Could I have some clay?" Asks Wendy.

"Could I have a toy?" Asks Ben.

I mentally go over everything in the office. Paper and pencils? Yeah, we got that. Book for a ten-year-old? Possibly, but not a big chance. Clay and toys. No. What am I going to _do? _Then I remember this cheap dollar store across the street.

"Here, guys. I can get you all those things as soon as Jane comes back with breakfast."

"Who's Jane?" They ask curiously.

"The man who went to get us breakfast."

"He has a girl name." giggles Ben.

"Oh, Patrick." says Sienna.

Just then, Jane comes in with muffins and hot chocolate for the kids, tea for himself and coffee for me.

"Thanks." I say. "I gonna run over to Family Dollar to get a few things."

At the store, I grab a basket and throw in a bag of modeling clay for Wendy. I go to the toy aisle and get a bag of little plastic cars for Ben. I pick up The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart for Max. It's pretty long, about four hundred pages, but it's good. In the checkout aisle, I buy a Rubik's Cube for Jane. I buy one more, in case any of the kids want to try.

As I'm walking across the street I feel good. I love buying things for kids. Christmas shopping for Jeremy is one of my favorite parts about the holidays. It's like I'm pretending I'm a kid again, trying to decide what I want. It's like I'm a normal kid, not the psychologically damaged child I was, raising my four brothers at age 13, trying to support a family of seven on babysitter, lawn mower and dog walker wages.

The kids are incredibly happy with the purchases. "Thank you so much!" They squeal. Max is about to begin the book when he spots to Rubiks Cube. Suddenly, the clay, the cars, the paper and pencils are all in good use and the kids are happy. I'm relaxing, too, when Hightower walks in.

"_What_ is going on in here?"

**Authors note: Mentalist trivia! This is actually not trivia, I'm just curious.**

**What is your favorite mentalist quote?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors Note: Okay, first of all, sorry for the late update. I just started high school and I've been really busy.**_  
_

**Next order of buisness. My ipad's spell check has been seriously acting up so I just turned it off. This means that my already awful spelling will probably be so bad, it will burn. Sorry.**

**Now, for the shoutouts. Blackpink97 and Lisbonheart, I love you guys. My personal favorite quotes are as follows**

**Van Pelt: (In a high, bubbly, annoying voice.) When I was in high school, I had braces until I was seventeen so everybody called my Bracie Gracie! What did they call you?**

**Cho: Cho**

**Enjoy! :) leah**

_Oh, shit._

"Um, boss, these are the children of the victim. They're staying with Jane, um, for the time being." God, I hope that didn't sound as stupid out loud as it did in my head.

"Couldn't they stay with the other parent?"

"No, boss. She died in a car crash three years ago." Damn, this is almost exactly my story minus the "being rescued by police" part.

"Any relatives?"

"Yes, Ma'am. The victim had a brother."

"Why aren't they staying with him?"

"He's in the holding cell downstairs." She raises an eyebrow. I move closer to her and whisper "We walked in on him sexually assaulting one of these kids."

She glances at the kids, who instinctively huddle together tighter and squeeze their eyes shut.

"Ahh." I can hear syphathy in her voice. "well, to any other unit, I would tell them to give the kids to social services immediatly. However, Jane normally sits around doing nothing so this will give him something to do. At least, he'll stop bothering you guys."

"Thank you, boss." I say, gratefully. I just couldn't give the kids to social services. Sorry, its a matter of principle. Thank goodness Hightower has a soft spot for kids, as she has three.

I walk back into the bull pen, where the kids are exploring my purchases. Jane looks at me, then at Hightower's office.

"Its sorted out." I say, simply. I don't want to go into detail around these kids. They have enough on their minds already.

I sit on the couch and watch the kids. Sienna bows her head over her paper so we can't see what she's drawing. Wendy has made a hand out of the clay.

The hand is incredibly realistic. Its also haunting, in its own way. It is in a fist. It doesn't take a genius to guess what was going thriugh her head when she made it.

I glance at Jane to see if he's noticed the connection. Unfortunately, he chose that exact moment to glance at me for apparently the same exact thing. Our eyes meet for one, extremely awkward moment, then I turn, back to the kids, praying that I hadn't blushed.

Max, to my utter astonishment, has solved the Rubik's cube in about five minutes. My jaw drops.

I'm used to Jane showing off his intelligence but this? This is incredible. This kid is eight years old and from the story of his homelife, I'm guessing this is the first time he's ever picked up a Rubik's cube.

He grins for a second, then tosses it aside and picks up the book I got him. Damn, this kid is a _genuis._

Right at that moment, Sienna comes up to me shyly and asks if she can stetch and dance a bit.

"Sure." I say, still trying to comprehend how smart Max is. Right as I'm getting over the fact that Max is probably as smart as Jane, Sienna goes ahead and does something that blows the Rubik's cube thing out of the water.

She flips up into a perfect handstand, then bends her legs forward in an inpossible position until they touch her forehead. Then she slowly lowers herself down until her whole body is parallel to the groun, just a few inches above the ground. Picture someone getting into a pushup position, then picking up their feet a little bit, so that their whole body is being supported by their hands. She then pulls up into a handstand, then drops into a split.

Ben sees us staring and jumps up. "Sienna's showing me how to do cool stuff, too." He squeals. Then he does a back flip. A back flip. His hands don't touch the ground. The kid is six.

Holy _crap_  
For the second time that day, I glance at Jane. This time, he just stares back at me with my exact, shocked.

In case I wasn't impressed enough yet, I chose that moment to glance at the picture that Sienna drew. A perfect picture of herself. Practically a photograph. Its hauting. She is laying on a bed under a blanket. You can't see it, but I'm guessing that she's naked. She has a black eye and she is crying.

I discreetly flip it upside down. She probably didn't want anyone to see it.

Finally, curiousity overcomes me.

"That was really fast, Max." I say, gesturing to the Rubik's cube. "Has anyone ever shown you how to do it?"

"No. This is the first time I've ever seen one."

Nice. "Well, you're really smart. I'll bet you get good grades."

"No." He murmurs, looking at the floor. "I can't do my homework all the time because sometimes I'm busy with-." his voice tails off as he realizes that all of his siblings are staring at him. "busy with things." he finishes of, practically whispering.

I'm starting to sense that there's more to this picture then I thought, but I don't want to grill him while they're in a good mood. We sink into an awkward silence. I can feel tension in the room and I'm pretty sure that its eminating from the kids, though I can't figure out why. I feel like Max just let a bit of a huge secret slip.

"Sienna, do you take gymnastics?" Asks Jane in a desperate attempt to start conversation.

"No."

"Dance?"

"No."

"Ben, have you?"

"No."

These kids are _incredible._

**Authors Note: If any of you are wondering why there's so much about Rubik's cubes, its because I just figured out how to solve one and I want the whole world to know.**

**Trivia time! What was the name of the boyfriend of Lisbon, whom Jane mentioned? (Hint: he works with the CBI.) This is probably going to answered by some real, die-hard Mentalist fans.**

**Love y'all :) leah.**


	10. Chapter 10

The team doesn't seem bothered by the kids. Van Pelt adores them and has brought them four cookies so far. Cho, being Cho, glanced at them, then buried his nose in a case file and remained in that position for about an hour. Rigsby divides his time between actual work and tossing a nerf football with Max and Ben.  
I don't pay any attention to it until I hear breaking glass. Apparently what happened was Ben had the football and was about to throw it when Van Pelt dropped a book. He turned at the sound and the football sailed into a bottle of coke on a desk. I came out with a broom to sweep up the glass but Ben takes one look at the broom and curls up into a ball, crying. I take a step forward to comfort him and he covers his face and flinches.  
Luckily, Jane walked in at that moment and scooped up Ben.  
"Come on guys," he said to the kids. "Lets go to the park." They all leave obediantly with Jane. The team exchanges looks and gets back to work. I sweep up the glass, throw it away but as I'm walking back to my office, I see a stack of Sienna's drawing. I hesitate for a second, then bring them to my office.  
The one on top is the one I saw earlier, of her crying under a blanket. There are a lot more of crying people and a lot of men. I notice that most of the picters of men are indistinct of smokey. Its hard to determine the identities of most of them except for one. It is a sketch of a man's face. I put it in my desk because I feel like it will help in the investigation. I put the rest back on the desk.  
Jane and the kids come back looking tired but happy. Ben has a balloon and they all have ice cream cones. I notice something and Wendy walks to the couch and sits down. There's a slight limp in her left leg.  
"Wendy." I say cautiously. "Does your leg hurt?"  
"No!" She says, a little forcefully.  
"Let me check it out." I say, standing up.  
"No, its fine." She insists. I pull up her pant leg and gasp. Her leg is covered in belt lacerations and her knee is purple and swelling up. Her sibling see her pant leg up and squeal. "Wendy, what are you doing? Pull that down, everyone will see!"  
"Wendy, you need to go to the hospital! When did this happen?" I ask, trying to remain calm.  
Suddenly, Sienna gasps. "I'm missing a picture!" She's holding up her stack of drawing and has a frantic look in her eyes.  
"What was it a picture of?" Asks Max, clearly panicked. "Was it...was it him?" She nods, now looking under the table.  
The kids all look at eachother fearfully.  
Our team exchanges looks. Something is going on that we don't know about.


End file.
